


Lift the Veil

by Parda



Series: Blood Cousins [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-20
Updated: 2017-10-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 04:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12425211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parda/pseuds/Parda
Summary: A lesson in free will during the Apocalypse, and where Castiel went after he died and Lucifer was still beating on Dean, and how Chuck finally got a clean shirt.  (set during the events of Swan Song, Episode 5:22).





	Lift the Veil

* * *

**Monday, 19 April 2010 – Madelia, Minnesota**

* * *

“Ruth, would you bring up the roasting pan from the basement?” her mom asked after lunch. “It should be in one of the boxes on the shelves near the dryer.”

“Sure.” Ruth set down her pop on the kitchen table then trotted down the basement stairs. Four boxes had been labeled “Kitchen” by the movers, and Ruth started with the two on the bottom shelf. In the second box she found neatly folded kitchen towels, and under them were paperbacks, about half of them all the same size with the same black binding and same type of lettering. “Supernatural” was the name of that series, and the numbers ran from one to twenty-four. The other books had yellow-edged pages and a different style, but all the books had the same author: Carver Edlund.

Ruth picked up _Time Is On My Side,_ one of the unnumbered books. The cover showed two handsome young men standing inside an old house, just in front of a grandfather clock with no hands. An ominous shadow of a hand holding a knife showed on the wall. She turned the book over and read the teaser on the back.

_Finding body parts is a sure sign of foul play. But losing body parts is even worse! Sam and Dean go looking for a doctor, while Bobby manages to—_

Ruth stopped short. Sam? Dean? And Bobby? A very weird coincidence. She looked at the front cover again, but the men on the cover looked like models from New York City, not like Sam and Dean. Ruth opened the book to a random page and started reading.

And stopped again, a couple of pages in, swearing in disbelief. The Sam and Dean in the book were brothers, just like the Sam and Dean she’d met six weeks ago. They were hunters of supernatural monsters. They drove an old black car. They drank beer. She flipped through the book and found Bobby, the real Bobby, complete to his baseball hat and favorite swear words. He wasn’t in a wheelchair, though, and it didn’t look like Castiel was in the book at all.

Ruth dug through the books in the box, skimming the teasers and sometimes reading pages in books that had names like _Bloodlust_ and _Hookman_ and _Skin._ She found vampires and shapeshifters and monsters galore. And sex.

Detailed sex. “Sam’s lips caressed her naked skin, tasting and licking and biting, while Madison’s hungry mouth found—”

Ruth hastily shut the book called _Heart_ and dropped it back in the box. She was reaching for the book numbered 24 when Mom came down the stairs, calling, “Ruth? Did you find the pan?” Then Mom saw which box Ruth had opened, and she said, “Oh dear.” She came over, fluttering her hands about, a half-nervous, half-embarrassed smile on her face. “I see you’ve find my private stash.”

“Um…,” was all Ruth could manage.

“Romance novels are just too silly,” Mom confided, sitting next to Ruth on the floor and picking up book #13. “All those sighs and ribbons and lace. I like a little more bite to the stories I read.” She’d already opened her book.

“Like in _Heart_?” Ruth found herself asking before she could stop herself. The book had fallen open right to that page.

“Oh, yes!” Mom said, and before Ruth could go “um” again, Mom went on, “Sam is so sweet in that one, and of course Madison is his first after Jess.”

“Who’s Jess?” Ruth asked.

“Jessica. Sam’s girlfriend.” She looked up abruptly from the book in her lap. “Oh, but you haven’t read them yet. Some of them don’t add much to the story arc, but most do, and they really should be read in order.”

No wonder Ruth always felt like she was walking into the middle of things with the Winchesters.

“But don’t go by the numbers,” Mom said next. “They had a different publisher for a while, and it got all confused. I have a list here.” From the box she pulled out a sheet of paper, neatly typed but much creased. The paper had a list of book titles, each with at least one location and date. “I made a map, too, of their travels, if you like,” Mom added then stopped herself and added, “If, I mean, you want to read them?”

“I do,” Ruth said. “Very much.”

“Oh, good,” Mom said with a smile, the first real smile Ruth had seen since they’d found Nathan. “And I promise—no spoilers from me!”

And none from me, either, thought Ruth, very glad indeed that Sam and Dean and Bobby hadn’t come for Easter dinner. Mom would’ve gone nuts.

“Can I take the books upstairs?” Ruth asked. She wanted to start reading right now.

“Yes, of course, only …” Mom glanced around. “Don’t tell your father, all right?”

“Oh, no,” Ruth reassured her as they headed for the stairs, she carrying the box and Mom carrying the roasting pan.

“It’s just… I don’t think he would understand me being a Dean-girl.”

This time Ruth managed an “Oh” and her mom said, “Careful, dear, don’t trip.”

 

By dinnertime, Ruth was almost finished with book #1. “I’ll be right out!” she called, but by the time she got to the table the food was cold and her dad had finished and gone.

Mom left the dishes in the sink and joined her at the table. “So…,” Mom asked, “what did you think of the book?”

“Really interesting,” Ruth said. “And it’s terrible about Jess, and their mom.” She’d had no idea. Sam never mentioned Jessica at all. While Ruth ate, she and Mom talked, and they kept talking while they did the dishes together.

Right after that, while Mom was rereading book #1, Ruth went into her bedroom to call Bobby. “Who the hell is Carver Edlund?” Ruth began.

“Oh,” Bobby said. “Him.” He sighed then explained about “Chuck, the prophet of the Lord.”

“Chuck,” Ruth repeated dubiously. “Writing the _Winchester Gospels_.”

“That’s what Castiel calls them. Oh, by the way, he and Dean and Sam got the ring from Pestilence today.”

“Great!” Ruth said, and she meant it, because getting the third ring was great, but the fourth ring they needed belonged to Death, and even if they did manage to get it, they would still have to get Lucifer into the cage. They had a long way to go. “Everybody ok?”

“They’ll be all right.”

“Good.” Ruth went back to the writing of the prophet Chuck. “Are these books accurate?”

“There’s some dramatic license, and stuff gets left out, of course, but Sam and Dean say mostly, yes.”

“You haven’t read them?”

“No, and I ain’t gonna,” Bobby declared. “It’s old history, anyway.”

Not for her. From just one book, she’d learned a lot about Sam and Dean. And about their parents, John and Mary, and Sam’s girlfriend Jessica, and Dean’s legions of hookups, and about their car. “This Carver-Chuck guy’s not writing now, is he?” Ruth asked, suddenly realizing with horror that she could end up in one of these novels. Then Mom really would go nuts.

“From what I hear, he’s still writing, but no one is reading. No publisher.”

“Thank God,” Ruth murmured.

“Maybe,” Bobby said. “Or maybe thank somebody else.”

* * *

 

Ruth spent the next couple of days reading as much as she could. Luckily, the books weren’t that long, and besides archery and a translation Bobby had asked for, she didn’t have that much else she had to do, so she was able to get a good start on the books her mom said were important to “the story-arc.” She’d also heard more than she wanted to about why her mother was a Dean-girl instead of a Sam-girl.

“Which one do you like better?” Mom asked. “Sam or Dean?”

Normally, Ruth either just said what she thought or said nothing, but neither one of those was going to work here. Her mom was waiting, eager to discuss, and for Ruth to say: “They’re my cousins so I don’t think of them that way” was clearly not an option. “It’s a tough choice,” Ruth finally said.

“Isn’t it?” Mom agreed. “We’ve had some great discussions in the chat rooms online.”

Ruth had looked at some of the online stuff the other night. There was way too much “squee-ing” and “OMG-ing” for her tastes, plus the chats were stuck in a time-lag, because the last book had ended with Dean going to hell. There was the occasional mention of angels, but nobody ever mentioned Castiel or Lucifer or Michael or the end of the world, nothing that mattered now. Like Bobby had said: old history.

Even so, Ruth read parts of the books aloud to Nathan, so that he would know what was going on. “I think you’ll like Dean and Sam,” she told her twin. “Dean’s a smart-ass, but he works hard. And he’s tough. Sam is more serious. He’s good-hearted and kind, but strong when he needs to be.” She smiled, or tried to. “He’s a lot like you.”

Nathan slept on.

Ruth kissed him goodbye and went home to read some more. The next day after breakfast she was reading in the living room when Dad came in and sat down in a chair to ask: “What are your plans, Ruth?”

She’d already gone running and gone to Mass. “Visit Nathan this afternoon. Help Mom with the laundry.” She also wanted to practice archery, finish the book, work on a translation and do some web research, then talk to Bobby, but she didn’t mention that to Dad. “Do you have something you need me to do, Dad?”

“I do have some paint that needs scraping,” he admitted. “But I wasn’t talking just about today. What are your plans … for you?”

Ruth shook her head, confused, but when Dad leaned forward, his hands clasped together and his elbows on his knees, she knew she was in for “a talk” that would make his point very clear.

“I know you’re here now because of Nathan,” Dad began, “and your mom and I are happy to have you at home. But, Ruth, sitting around the house and reading these trashy novels…” Dad shook his head. “You need to have more purpose in your life than that. Now, I know getting a medical discharge from the service was a big change for you, and I know that job in Ohio wasn’t part of a career plan, but that’s kind of my point. What career plan do you have?”

None.

“Nathan’s life has been put on hold,” Dad said, keeping his voice almost steady. “But that’s no reason for your life to be on hold, too.”

 

* * *

 

Before lunch, Ruth looked at Help Wanted ads. Most of the jobs were for people with medical training or people to drive trucks. “You could be a teacher,” Mom suggested.

Ruth shuddered. At least she knew what she didn’t want to do. “I’ll work on it tomorrow,” she promised then went to call Bobby. They talked about the translation a bit then went over recent portents and omens: weeping statues, freak storms, windows blown out in an old church. “It’s not looking good,” she said.

“I know,” Bobby said. “We’re running out of time. But I got a new lead,” he said. “And some new ideas.”

That was on Saturday. She called Bobby on Monday, but his phone went to voice-mail. A text arrived at 2:22 a.m., saying simply, “Gone on a job out of state. Back sometime this week.”

On Wednesday afternoon, Ruth got a message from Bobby, saying they were on their way home and inviting her to visit. Ruth was happy to go. Her dad was offering way too many helpful suggestions about job-hunting, and Mom was talking way too much about the cuteness of Dean. “I’m going to go look into a job, Dad,” Ruth said, and he nodded approvingly. She didn’t tell him what kind of job. She packed a bag and her archery gear (and the Supernatural books) and drove through the rain to Sioux Falls.

She knocked on Bobby’s door, but there was no answer, which meant she still had time to cook dinner for the guys. She got the hidden key that Bobby had told her about and let herself in. She was surprised to see Bobby’s wheelchair in a corner in the front hall. He might have gotten another one, but they were expensive. Maybe he was renting one to try it out. Ruth went to the kitchen and started cooking food that could keep a while: soup and cornbread and ham. And pie, of course. Apple this time. Two of them.

Dean showed up at nine. “Oh. Hi."

Not exactly a welcome mat. “Bobby invited me.”

“Yeah.” After thinking about it, Dean added, “Good.” He sniffed the air. “Smells great.”

Not exactly a subtle hint, but he might be more talkative when fed. Ruth brought out the food and sat down with him at the kitchen table. “You didn’t go with the others.”

“They went out west on disease control. Pestilence follow-up.” He split his cornbread and piled ham inside to make a sandwich. “I had a date with Death in Chicago.”

“Not Tombstone or Deadwood?”

Dean shrugged. “Death said he liked the pizza.” He took a huge bite and chewed.

This was utterly weird. “You talked to Death.”

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed around a mouthful of food. “And...” He fished in his pocket and dropped a ring with a square white stone on the table. “He gave me this.”

“The fourth ring,” she said in wonder. She’d never given that scheme much hope. “You’ve got the key to Lucifer’s cage!”

“Yeah.” Dean didn’t sound happy. “We just got to get him in it. And I don’t think he’ll fall for the ‘piece of cheese’ trick.”

“Maybe different bait?” Ruth suggested. “What does Lucifer want?” As soon as she said it, she knew the answer, and she kicked herself for thinking aloud.

Dean’s face had gone still, and he slowly set down his sandwich. “Lucifer wants Sam.” He shoved his plate away, pocketed the ring, and left the room.

A fly buzzed its way to the abandoned food and crawled along the bread with delicate steps. Usually, Ruth didn’t clean up for a guy’s mess for him. Eli’s mom had taught her that. “Take care of your man, honey,” she had said, “but don’t let him start thinking that way. It’ll never end.”

But the world might be ending, and Dean was carrying the weight of it on his shoulders, and he might have to watch his brother die. So Ruth cleared the table and cleaned the kitchen after she finished her meal. In her bedroom upstairs, she finished reading _Croatoan,_ which ended with Dean wondering how to explain to Sam that his big brother might have to kill him. Apparently, they’d eventually had that discussion. They both knew the score.

And it looked like they were losing the game. Ruth turned off the light and went to sleep.

At four in the morning, she woke up to bright lights moving outside. When she looked out the window, she saw Sam getting out of a van. She pulled on a sweatshirt over her pajamas, stepped into her moccasins, and went down the stairs and onto the porch. The rain was still coming down, and it was cold. “Can I help?” she called but Sam was already jogging toward the house with his duffel bag. Castiel appeared from the far side of the van with empty hands. He looked shorter somehow, and tired.

“Where’s Bobby?” Ruth asked Sam with growing concern. He turned, and so she turned, and there was Bobby, getting out of the van and walking to the house.

Bobby.

Walking.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed.

“Exactly,” said Castiel, rain water dripping off the tip of his nose as he stood in the yard.

She ignored him because now Bobby was standing right in front of her on the porch, with an embarrassed-happy grin on his face. He was taller than she had realized, and she couldn’t read the writing on his baseball hat because it was too high. “Bobby?”

“Yeah, I know,” he said, holding up a hand. “I got my legs back. Let’s go in; it’s cold out here.”

Ruth was right behind him as Bobby walked—walked!—through the hall. Sam and Castiel followed her. In the kitchen, she demanded: “How?”

“A fiend of hell,” Castiel proclaimed. “Bobby sold his soul.”

“You didn’t,” Ruth whispered in horror.

“I didn’t,” Bobby reassured her then glared at Castiel. “It’s a loan,” Bobby said testily, as if he’d said that a dozen times before. “And for a damned good cause.”

Castiel shook his head. “What is good cannot be damned.”

“That’s crap,” Bobby said. “Dean went to hell, and so did John, and they’re both good men.”

“And so are you,” Castiel replied. “Yet you bargain with demons you know cannot be trusted, and you hand over to them the thing they want most.”

“Souls,” Sam said.

“Power,” Castiel contradicted. He sniffed the air. “Do I smell pie?”

“Apple,” Ruth told him before asking Bobby: “Is this demon your ‘new lead’?”

“Yeah, well, everything’s going to hell anyway.”

Ruth wasn’t planning to.

“We need help, and we need it now,” Bobby explained, “so I made a temporary arrangement. Crowley’s been giving us some good information these last few days.”

Ruth wondered if this Crowley had yellow eyes like Azazel, or black eyes like other demons. She’d ask Bobby later.

Sam looked around the kitchen and asked with a smile, “Is that food for us? It smells great. And I would love a piece of apple pie, if Dean didn’t eat it all.”

“He didn’t,” she reassured him. “But only because there are two.” They sat down to eat, and somehow Dean magically appeared, ready for food. Ruth joined them at the table just to keep them company, but she didn’t protest when Bobby cut her a piece of pie.

There wasn’t much talking going on, and Ruth took the time to evaluate the team. Dean was chowing down but silent instead of being a smart ass, which meant he was in a bad mood. Bobby seemed confident and strong, more steady in himself now that he had his legs again, and almost done with his second bowl of soup. Castiel looked shorter and seemed tired, and he was eating, which he had never done before. Sam was eating with energy but not enjoyment, and his eyes had an inward stare.

That was not a good look. “So,” Ruth said, “now that you have all four rings, what’s the plan?”

“We set a trap for Lucifer.” Sam carefully crumbled his cornbread all over his soup. “And I’m the bait.”

Dean was staring hard at Sam. “But you don’t say yes.”

Sam set down his spoon and looked right as his brother. “Yes, Dean, I do.”

“No fucking way,” Ruth breathed, shocked into swearing, with rage starting to build. “You swore you would never give in.”

“I’m not giving in.” Sam explained. “I’m infiltrating. I keep control, and I jump in the cage.”

Ruth almost said No fucking way again, because that sounded insane.

“Then Dean locks the door with Lucifer inside,” Sam finished.

“No, Sam, I don’t.” Dean spoke with a space between each word. “Because you would be in that cage, too. That’s suicide.”

“No, Dean, it isn’t.” Sam was just as precise. “It’s a suicide mission.”

Sometimes, Ruth knew, a suicide mission was the only way the bigger mission could succeed. Maybe it wasn’t insane after all.

“It’s a stupid mission is what it is,” Dean snapped back. “Because keeping control with an angel or a demon inside you is damn near impossible—remember what Bobby had to do to get Ruby out of his skull?—and you’re talking about keeping control from the devil himself. You’re not that strong, Sam.”

“He could be,” Castiel said, and when everyone turned to him, he added, “If he drinks demon blood.”

Ruth shuddered, and Dean made a gagging noise and shoved his plate away. Bobby just kept eating and Sam just nodded, like he’d already figured that out and didn’t think it was all that bad.

“You are not doing that,” Dean told his brother, but instead of acknowledging that command, Sam drank what was left in his bowl of soup then reached for the pie.

In his silence, Ruth could see his focus and his resolve to see the mission through. The gangly puppy-awkward young man she’d first seen at a restaurant six weeks ago had disappeared, and now Sam seemed like a warrior of tempered steel. Sergeant Zimsky would have liked him.

“Bobby?” Dean demanded, apparently looking for backup.

“Nuh-unh. Not going there again, not now. It’s late, I’m beat, and I’m going to bed,” Bobby stood—stood!—then carried his dishes over to the sink before going upstairs.

Dean kept glaring at Sam, who picked up his pie plate, thanked Ruth for the meal, and left to eat in peace. So Dean swore viciously and left, too, but he went outside instead of following Sam.

Both Winchesters had left their soup bowls on the table. Castiel cut himself a third piece of apple pie.

Ruth leaned back in the old wooden chair, far enough to balance on its two back legs, and examined the angel. Not only did he look shorter and seem tired, he was eating. And he seemed … different somehow. “What happened to you?” she asked. “Demons?”

His mouth twisted, as if he were eating something nasty instead of chowing down on dessert. “Angels.”

“One of them named Michael?” she guessed. Castiel’s head came up, and in his eyes Ruth saw a bleak flinch of pain and then the far-focused laser stare of someone who was eager to kill. She brought her chair back down. “That bad, huh?”

“That bad.” He crushed some crumbs under the tines of his fork. “And worse.”

“What happened?” she asked again, because it looked like Castiel, weirdly enough, wanted to talk.

He hesitated then admitted, “My grace was stripped from me. I was cast out of Heaven.”

He looked up again, meeting her gaze, and now his eyes held the sad frightened hurt of an abused and orphaned child. Even though he was an angel, Ruth was starting to feel sorry for him.

“This…,” Castiel waved his hand in front of his chest, “this vessel is all that I am now.”

“No powers?” she asked, because that would explain why he seemed smaller.

“No powers,” he confirmed. “At all.”

“Wow. That sucks.” And not just for him. They needed all the superpowers they could get. Castiel laughed, a painful laugh, but a laugh. She hadn’t known angels could do that.

“It sucks indeed,” he agreed.

“So you’re like a human now.”

“No. Humans have eternal souls. When this vessel ceases, so shall I.”

“Oh.” That sucked, too. “Well, at least that means you can’t end up in hell.” Not like Dean had, for a while. Not like John Winchester still was. Not like Bobby, if he didn’t get his soul back somehow.

“If Lucifer wins, Hell will come here.” Castiel leaned forward, his eyes intent on hers. “So we cannot touch Michael until Lucifer is vanquished, either by Michael … or by us.”

“Yeah,” Ruth reluctantly agreed. This was way bigger than she had thought two months ago, and this was the fight Nathan had started. She owed it to him to try to win it. Even so… “Trying to take out an archangel is bad enough,” Ruth said. “Taking out the devil?” She shook her head.

“Lucifer is an archangel,” Castiel reminded her. “Just like Michael.”

She’d known that, but somehow she’d never thought of it that way. “Do you really think Sam is strong enough to resist him?”

“Possibly.” Castiel finished his pie with his eyes closed before asking, “What do you think?”

From what she’d read in Bobby’s books, it was nearly impossible to defy a regular demon. Defying Satan himself? That seemed really impossible, but then all of this did. Don’t claim to know something you don’t, Sergeant Zimsky had often said, because you can’t bullshit your way through a minefield. So Ruth answered, “Sam is strong, but I don’t know if he’s strong enough.”

“It is true; he may fail. How have you planned to do the ‘take out’?”

“Angel-piercing arrows,” she told him. “I used the shards of a blade for the points.”

“My blade.” Castiel seemed pleased by that. “Arrows could work.”

“Not unless there’s a target,” she pointed out. Sergeant Zimsky’s lesson #47: Find the enemy first. Then kill them. “We don’t know where the archangels are.”

“If Sam says yes, then Lucifer will come.” Castiel sounded very certain. “Can you shoot Sam’s body?”

Sam on a suicide mission. Sam’s body inhabited by Lucifer. Sam would already be gone, or trapped inside and screaming. Ruth nodded. “Yes.”

 “An arrow through the throat would be effective,” Castiel informed her.

“Yeah, right,” she agreed, trying not to roll her eyes. It would also be extremely difficult. She was going to aim lower down. “What about Michael?” Ruth asked. “He’ll be going after Dean again, right?”

“No. Michael has already taken Dean’s half-brother, Adam, as his vessel.”

“Damn,” Ruth muttered. So much for stopping Michael from hurting someone else. Even if Adam had already been dead. But she would do what she could to make sure Adam would be the last. “What’s Michael doing now? Just waiting for Lucifer?”

“Probably. Michael should arrive as soon as Lucifer has a vessel. Can you shoot them both?”

“Before they notice me? Probably not. Can you shoot?” She had four arrows, but she knew that if she missed with the first, she’d never get a chance to shoot the second. Might as well arm as many people as possible.

But Castiel was shaking his head. “I am not an archer. Dean is, but we cannot tell him. Lucifer will know whatever Sam knows, and if Dean knows…”

“… then Sam will suspect,” Ruth finished. According to the books, the brothers often kept secrets from each other, but they didn’t keep them very well, and this was too important to take a chance. “OK,” Ruth said. “And Bobby doesn’t need to know, either.” He would probably try to stop her, too, just like her parents.

“True,” Castiel agreed.

The mission brief for this covert op was over. Ruth stood to clear away the Winchesters’ dishes, but Castiel touched her hand again. “I know you want to kill Michael, but if you have to choose between Michael and Lucifer,” he warned, “shoot Lucifer first.”

“Yeah,” Ruth muttered again. Like that would be easy. Like any of this would be easy. “Right.”

“Right,” Castiel repeated, sounding totally serious.

It seemed that angels—even graceless ones—didn’t do sarcasm.

“If this happens,” Castiel said, “I will let you know you when Sam plans to say yes.”

Finally. A mission, instead of endless training. “Good,” she said fiercely. “How much longer?”

“A day or two, at least. Possibly a week.”

That would give her time to go home for a final farewell. She wasn’t planning on a suicide mission, but she knew the odds weren’t good. She would say goodbye to Nathan, but she would write a letter to Mom and Dad. Ruth didn’t want to do it that way, but she couldn’t explain any of this without them thinking she was crazy and trying to stop her.

“What’s your part in this?” she asked Castiel.

“I … do not know,” he admitted after a moment. “I will help Dean and Sam as best I can, but this vessel is weak, and I am weaponless. Except for the gun Bobby gave me. It is surprisingly effective.”

Ruth liked guns, too, but angels were immune to them. They didn’t sleep, either, but Castiel yawned and blinked in confusion, somehow looking like a kitten. Castiel wasn’t an angel anymore.

“Go to sleep,” Ruth told him, and he wandered off to find an empty bed.

He had left his plate on the table. Ruth stacked it with the others and put them all in the kitchen sink to soak. Someone else could wash the dishes. She grabbed a book from the library, but once in bed, she couldn’t concentrate, and after she turned out the lights, she couldn’t sleep.

Apparently, someone else couldn’t either because she heard footsteps, going up and going down, over and over again. She opened her door and saw Bobby half-way up the stairs. He looked up, shrugged, and grinned. “I still can’t believe it,” he said, waving a hand at his feet.

Ruth came out into the hall and sat at the top of the stair, then idly drew lines in the dust on the worn wooden floor. Bobby joined her there, sighing a little as he sat down. “Do you think Sam’s strong enough?” she asked. “To resist Lucifer?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. When Sam’s hopped up on demon blood, he’s powerful.”

“You mean physically strong?”

“Yeah, and psychic powers, too.”

“Wow.” No wonder Sam was not unwilling to drink that stuff.

“And even without demon blood, Sam is strong. In his heart, I mean. That boy’s got some strength of will.”

Heart and mind and soul: the three parts of yourself to dedicate to God. Sam had them all. “Can Crowley give us demon blood?”

“Crowley never ‘gives’ anything. But he’ll help. He doesn’t like Lucifer.”

A demon against Satan. Who’d have thought it? “What’s he like?” she asked. “This Crowley demon?”

“He’s a know-it-all annoying little piss-ant.” Bobby gave a snort of laughter. “I unloaded a round of rock salt in him. Hurt him just for a little bit, but it sure felt good to me for a while.”

Ruth knew that feeling. “Does he have yellow eyes?”

“Not that he’s shown. He just looks … normal.”

“The books say demons usually do.”

“Oh, yeah. Edlund’s books.” Bobby scratched at his right calf then leaned back and began watching in wonder as he moved his toes. “You read many of them?”

“About half. You first show up in the _Devil’s Trap._ ”

His toes stopped. “Which devil’s trap?”

“The one where you catch Meg. It’s the title of the book.”

“Stupid title,” Bobby muttered. “We built a lot of devil’s traps.”

But they didn’t catch devils; they caught demons. And demons granted wishes, like a genii from a bottle. Ruth stretched. “It’s nearly dawn. I’m going to go running.” Then she grinned at Bobby. “Want to come with?”

He chuckled but shook his head. “Not today. I’m going to be sore just from these stairs.”

After her run, Ruth went to the eight o’clock Mass as usual, then went back to Bobby’s where everybody was awake. The kitchen sink was empty and the counters were clean, but all the pie was gone. She had a cup of coffee with the guys then stood to leave. Castiel gave her a solemn nod, chin going down, whereas Dean jerked his chin up and said, “Hey.” She hugged Bobby, and this time he hugged her back with strong arms, instead of her having to lean down. She hugged Sam, too.

He tried to smile. “Goodbye, Ruth.”       

Probably the next time she saw him, the devil would have taken over his body, and she’d be aiming to kill. Ruth stretched up on her toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Goodbye, Sam.” She made it back to her car before her tears began.

* * *

 

 

Ruth got back to her folks’ house in time for lunch. She spent the day writing her farewell letter, visiting Nathan, and shooting arrows in the backyard. That night, she drove a few miles south of town until the roads went from paved to dirt, then parked her car next to a field that shimmered with young stalks of wheat.

The roads ran straight out here, marking the land into square fields, and the round moon lay just above the eastern road, like it was resting on the ground. A new moon would have been better, but at least the moon was waning. The dark called to the dark, so the book from Bobby’s library said. The sun had set two hours ago, and its glow in the western sky had faded away.

Ruth took a shovel from her car, paced out the center of the crossroads, then started to dig. After about ten minutes, she took a small bag from her coat pocket and placed it in the hole. She used her bare hands to put the dirt back in. Then she went to one of the corners of the crossroad and settled in to wait.

The moon rose, lifting above the road, its color shifting from golden yellow to white. The wind whispered among the new-grown wheat. It was too cold for crickets to sing, but the stars were pretty, and the Milky Way stretched wide. Ruth huddled into her coat and waited.

He came at midnight, walking along the silver ribbon of the western road. In the moonlight, his skin was milk chocolate, and he was whistling a song she hadn’t heard in more than three years. “Eli,” she whispered, coming to her feet.

But it wasn’t Eli. Eli had been taller and darker, and his smile had been sweet, not mocking. And Eli was dead. Ruth shuddered then crossed her arms over her chest and waited, trying to look cool and not show her fear. That angel in the hospital had said the sigil would give protection, but this was still scary shit.

The demon kept walking until he stood at the center of the crossroads. He reached down and then somehow her pouch was in his hand. He poured the contents out onto his palm: a set of military dog-tags, a lock of hair, a finger bone, a shriveled berry. “Hello, Ruth,” he said, finally turning to face her.

She stepped forward, her hands in her coat pockets now. “Hello, Demon,” she replied, trying to keep her expression calm and her voice steady as the bargaining began.

But all of a sudden, he was the one who seemed nervous. His smug smile faltered and he blinked and looked away. He read the dog-tags in his hand, glanced up, and said, “Wait here.” Then he disappeared.

“Damn it,” Ruth swore.

“Damning things is part of the job,” said a voice behind her on the north road.

Ruth pivoted immediately, her knife out and ready in her left hand, but the owner of the voice strolled forward, unconcerned. He was of average height, a little on the stocky side, and his dark hair was going thin on top. He had his hands in his coat pockets, too. He stopped four paces away, looking up at the night sky.

He’d sounded British, Ruth thought, and his smile wasn’t merely smug; it was a smirk. “Where’d the first demon go?” she asked.

“To fetch me,” he said, glancing her way and then back to the stars. “All Winchester family members qualify for premium service. How might I serve you tonight?”

Ruth really didn’t like the idea of being under demon surveillance. It was even worse than having angels watching over you. But she’d given up privacy when she’d put her dog-tags into that pouch and asked a demon to appear. “Tell me your name,” she said.

“Your friend Bobby calls me Crowley.”

The King of the Crossroads himself. Ruth took a deep breath and stood her ground.

“And a few other things,” he added.

She’d heard a few. Arrogant asshole. Double-crossing bastard. Know-it-all annoying little piss-ant. Well, either he could help or he couldn’t; she might as well ask. “You healed Bobby,” Ruth began. “Can you bind my brother’s soul back to his body?”

“Souls are our specialty,” Crowley said with a cheerful smile that disappeared as fast as a raindrop got eaten by desert sands. “But we take them. We don’t put them back.” He shrugged. “Sorry. No.”

Ruth took her time sheathing her knife, swallowing the disappointment. It had been a long shot; she’d always known that, but she didn’t want Mom and Dad to be left with no children at all.

“Anything else I can interest you in?” Crowley asked. “True love? Inexhaustible wealth? No bad hair days ever again?” His tone was mocking, his expression bored. He wasn’t even bothering to look at her; he was checking out her car.

And why not? She didn’t want anything else, not at his price, and he knew it. Except, perhaps… “Can I have my dog-tags back?” For answer, he tossed her pouch to her; she was surprised to find that it was cold. She looked inside and found everything there.

“That finger bone is from a young one,” he commented as she carefully tucked the pouch into an inner pocket of her coat. “And it’s fairly new.”

“I know.” Ruth stuck her hands back in her pockets and took a long look at Crowley. “I’m surprised you didn’t lie to me about being able to heal Nathan.”

“Lie?” Crowley repeated in disbelief, as if he’d never heard the word. “My darling girl, if I can’t make a deal with the truth, it’s time for me to retire. Perhaps not the plain, unvarnished truth,” he admitted, “but truth nevertheless.”

Huh. A demon with professional pride. And people who were proud liked to tell you why. “Why are you helping Sam and Dean and Bobby?” she asked.

“I don’t much fancy having Lucifer as a boss.”

That was definitely the truth. And that was also the end of the conversation, because Crowley laid a finger aside his nose, gave her a nod, and disappeared.

“Damn it,” Ruth swore. She hated when they did that. She hated angels and demons screwing up people’s lives and then just flying away. “Damn them all.”

* * *

 

Crowley left Ruth in the dark then popped over to Bobby’s place to have a chat with Castiel. The angel’s vessel was sleeping, and he had, wonder of wonders, taken off the perennial trench coat. His shirt and tie and jacket were hung neatly over the back of the wooden chair in the corner of the small bedroom. The trousers were there, too, and the shoes and socks were under the bed. Castiel was wearing only a white t-shirt and (Crowley peeked under the covers) light blue boxers.

Crowley smiled down at him then sat on the edge of the bed and gave Castiel a gentle pat on the cheek, like a cat who wanted its breakfast.

Castiel woke up, blinked, and shoved Crowley away with both hands. Not with the strength of an angel, but still with enough force to dump Crowley on the floor. Crowley looked up at him and grinned. “Good morning, Sunshine.”

“It is not morning,” Castiel stated flatly. His hair was spiked up in places, and he needed a shave. In the moonlight, he looked adorably rumpled.

“It’s after midnight,” Crowley pointed out. “That means it’s morning.”

“It is twelve-seventeen. There is no sunshine.”

“And as my friend Anita says,” Crowley said as he picked himself up, “a day without sunshine is like a day without orange juice. Or demon juice in this case.” He sat on the chair that held Castiel’s clothes. “Got enough blood for Sam?”

Castiel sat up on the bed, back straight and legs crossed. The blankets covered his lower half, and his hands were relaxed on his thighs. “Bobby and I drained two demon corpses in Nevada. He and I carried the blood in from the van the night we arrived. “

“Without Sam’s help,” Crowley observed.

“He was … agitated.”

“He was hungry,” Crowley corrected. That must have been hell for the boy, driving across the country with the scent of all that demon blood wafting enticingly through the air. “You’re down to two gallons now.”

“There were four.”

“As I said: Sam’s hungry. I’ll tell Bobby where to find more.” Castiel nodded, and Crowley wasn’t surprised that Castiel, arrogant bastard that he was, didn’t have the decency to say thank-you. “What can you tell me about Ruth?” Crowley asked.

Castiel may have lost his power, but he hadn’t lost his stare. He just looked at Crowley with supreme and stony indifference.

So Crowley got chatty. “She’s a girl on fire, that one.” Just to look at her had hurt his eyes. He couldn’t possibly have taken that soul into hell, glowing like a pulsar, and with a rainbow sheen that he’d heard about but never seen. Someone powerful was protecting that soul. “Feisty, too.”

“When did you see her?”

“Just now, at midnight. She called me to the crossroads.” He leaned forward to confide, “I gave her what she wanted.”

“Ruth would not—” Castiel bit off whatever he had been going to say.

“Would not what?” Crowley teased. “Traffic with demons?” He licked his lips, slowly, with the tip of his tongue. “Kiss one?” That got a glowering stare. Crowley leaned back—putting creases in Castiel’s clothes—and crossed his legs at the ankles, taking the opportunity to admire his alligator shoes. “She and her brother got dosed with angel blood at an early age, didn’t they?”

“She has a part to play,” Castiel admitted then tried to bury it with egalitarian tripe: “As do we all.”

“Amen, brother,” Crowley agreed cheerfully, and got another stony look in return. “What?” he challenged. “You don’t think demons are part of the ineffable plan? You don’t think we can play?” He liked to play. He wouldn’t mind a bit of play right now. Castiel might be a dis-graced angel, but the body he was living in was human, with all of a human’s wants and needs, and desire was Crowley’s bread and butter.

Over the centuries, he’d tasted desire in its many, many forms—that emptiness inside that ached to be filled, that fire that licked its way along your veins, that driving need that left you gasping…

“Leave,” Castiel ordered. His hands had tightened on the blanket, and Crowley could see the steady pulse of blood on the right side of the angel’s neck.

Crowley kept most of his smile to himself. “Of course.” He stood, then turned and rehung all of Castiel’s clothes, taking particular care with the tie. Blue and silky, long and straight. The color matched Castiel’s eyes.

Then Crowley stepped over to the bed, looked deep into those lovely, searching eyes, and kissed Castiel.

Sadly, only on the forehead. Castiel’s eyes narrowed in outrage and his lips parted, and at the sight of that small yet luscious opening, Crowley tasted his own desire: fiercely urgent and achingly hot.

But there was to be no slaking tonight, for once again Castiel ordered: “Leave.”

“I’ll see you soon,” Crowley promised with a bit of a wink. “Sunshine.”

Oh, yes. The two of them definitely had parts to play.

 

* * *

 

As soon as the demon Crowley disappeared from the bedroom, Castiel turned to look at the mirror above the dresser. He could still feel the imprint and the shape of Crowley’s lips on his skin, and he almost expected to see a glowing mark on his forehead. But there was nothing to be seen. He scrubbed with the heel of his hand, and after a moment there was nothing to be felt.

Castiel knew that demons were full of mockery and lies. That kiss had been an impudent gesture, designed to irritate. Crowley’s words had been lies. Ruth would never have made a deal with a demon. Although, yesterday, she had easily succumbed to his own suggestions. Perhaps she was weaker than he had thought. He would need to be diligent.

By design, humans were frail as well as disobedient and willful, which made them unreliable. Yet, oddly, their very willfulness sometimes caused them to persevere. Or as Bobby sometimes said: “Stubborn to the point of stupid.”

Sam would need to be stupidly stubborn for their plan to succeed. Castiel had encouraged him, and Bobby and now even Dean were supporting Sam, too. If Sam could overcome Lucifer and take him back to the cage, then Michael would have no one to fight. He would be distracted and off-guard. A perfect time to strike.

Ruth could kill Michael. Castiel did not begrudge her that. Also, Michael would loathe being killed by a mere human, and for eons to come, angels would marvel at how weak Michael had been. Castiel was looking forward to that, almost as much watching Michael die.

* * *

_Next Chapter: The Open Door, in which Ruth learns a lesson in free will._

* * *


End file.
